Upcoming 3/17/10

I assumed that Natsume Ono’s Ristorante Paradiso (Viz) would be the pick of the week, and I think it’s very good, but I have to say that Bunny Drop (Yen Press) took me by very pleasant surprise. Let’s see what else will arrive on Wednesday.

Of course, Bunny Drop could just be the debut pick of the week, leaving room for me to single out an ongoing option and rejoice over the arrival of the second volume of Time and Again (Yen Press), written and illustrated by JiUn Yun. I found the first volume to be absolutely delightful, and I can’t wait to learn more about the woman with the positively menacing bouffant who provided that installment’s cliffhanger.

If you’re interested in the perspectives of sorcerers who navigate landscapes filled with monsters, you’ have no shortage of choices. But what if you’re more interested the monster’s point of view? Look to Q. Hayashida’s Dorhedoro (Viz) for this neglected perspective. In it, “a clan of sorcerers have been plucking people off the streets to use as guinea pigs for atrocious ‘experiments’ in the black arts.” One of those experiments is looking for payback, and he’s just the lizard-headed amnesiac to… well… okay, maybe he isn’t. I can’t say that this is my favorite series in the SigIKKI roster, but it’s got some gorgeously gritty art and an amusingly brutal sense of humor.

I’m so crazy about Banri Hidaka’s V.B. Rose (Tokyopop), so I’ll have to make a concerted effort to catch up with her I Hate You More Than Anyone (CMX), which hits the nine-volume mark. (I think there are a total of 13 in the series, which was originally serialized in Hakusensha’s Hana to Yume, which is kind of a gold mine of terrific shôjo.) Sean (A Case Suitable for Treatment) Gaffney has been reviewing the series.

From the stack: Ristorante Paradiso

Lori (Manga Xanadu) Henderson wrote a great post about “Noted Women of Manga,” and I agree with all of her choices. I’d certainly add the likes of CLAMP, Junko Mizuno, Ai Yazawa, and Natsume Ono. The thing that I admire about Ono, at least so far, is that she seems to create manga that would interest her more than it would conveniently fit into a magazine’s style. She reminds me of Fumi Yoshinaga in that way.

This might be ignorance on my part of how things work, but it’s hard for me to imagine a magazine editor saying, “We need a story about a wispy, gullible samurai to really round out our roster. Call Ono!” or “Our line would really be complete if we just had a crushingly depressing family drama. What’s Ono up to?” These very conversations may well have happened, but it strikes me as unlikely. Even the untranslated glimpses I’ve gotten of her yaoi work seem to ignore conventions of category, though that’s just a guess.

Her latest licensed work, Ristorante Paradiso (Viz), isn’t quite as odd as her other translated titles. It’s a romantic comedy set in an eatery in Rome, driven by an alienated daughter and her irresponsible mother. But it’s got those odd, appealing touches that I’ve come to associate with Ono. For one thing, the restaurant is staffed entirely by older gentlemen who wear glasses because the mother thinks this type of man is smoking hot. (One can assume that Ono shares this sentiment.)

There’s certainly no shortage of fictional dining establishments run by an army of hot young guys, but it’s nice to see Ono argue that “hot” is relative, or at least a matter of taste. Her waiters, wine stewards and chefs are a generally amiable bunch, pleased to accommodate the fetish of their boss’s wife and the whims of their clientele (within limits). And while 21-year-old Nicoletta doesn’t specifically share her mom’s predilection, she can’t quite resist its effect.

This is convenient for Olga, the mom, who abandoned Nicoletta 15 years ago to be with a hot, bearish restauranteur. Nicoletta has come to Rome to expose her mother, who concealed her previous marriage from her current husband. But the genial atmosphere of the restaurant and the specific allure of one of its waiters, sad-sack Claudio, keep Nicoletta from executing her planned revenge. Nicoletta even comes to suspect that, while Olga may have been a terrible mother, she’s a pretty interesting woman.

The book concentrates on gentle, awkward romance and low-key family drama, letting its characters amble through their various arcs at their own pace. Ono’s approach is amiable rather than dramatic. One character even goes so far as to note, “That was anticlimactic.” But that’s not problematic, as there’s nothing wrong with a comic that aims to charm rather than grip. And Ono is certainly equipped to charm, with her graceful art and enticing storytelling.

(This review is based on a complimentary copy provided by the publisher.)

From the stack: Bunny Drop vol. 1

There was a great series of strips in Garry Trudeau’s Doonesbury where journalist Rick Redfern was assigned a series of columns about being a hands-on father. He and his wife, legislative counsel Joanie Caucus, have a young child, and Rick has stayed at home with little Jeff in the interest of journalism. Rick ends up spending more time writing about parenting than actually parenting, and at the week’s end, Joanie delivers an apt and scathing observation that, if a woman tried to write a newspaper series about being a hands-on parent, it would be banal, but if a man changes a diaper, it’s worthy of column inches.

Those strips came to mind as I was reading Yumi Unita’s Bunny Drop (Yen Press), though not because it reaffirms Joanie’s argument. It may be about a man accepting the responsibilities of fatherhood, but Unita refrains from any grandiose proclamations on her protagonist’s virtue or courage. He’s learning to be an adult, which is ideally the most normal thing in the world.

Daikichi is 30. He attends his grandfather’s funeral and learns that the old man left behind a six-year-old daughter. Daikichi is shocked by his relatives’ attempts to dodge responsibility for the withdrawn little girl, and he impulsively offers to care for Rin. Under another creator, this might be fodder for wacky domestic comedy, with the bachelor dad screwing up in ostensibly hilarious ways. (The back-cover text tries to imply that this is the case. Only one sentence ends with a humble period, with the rest sporting exclamation and question marks.) Unita’s approach is in a much lower key, and I think the results are distinctly satisfying.

Daikichi is neither a natural parent nor a disastrous one. He has good intentions and no experience, so he does what any sensible person would do. He asks friends and relatives for advice when he encounters an issue that’s beyond his ken. He does research on the web to find expert opinions. He makes changes to his life that are in both his and Rin’s best interests, like picking the right day care center for Rin or adjusting his work responsibilities so he can spend more time with her. If it sounds a little banal, it is, but it’s banal in a very rewarding way.

But Bunny Drop isn’t a documentary, and Unita is skilled at finding the humor in her characters’ situation without overdoing it. Daikichi may be a functioning adult, but he is immature in some ways. He’s awkward around women and isn’t naturally fond of children, so his relationship with Rin can seem like that of bickering siblings rather than guardian-child. And Rin is a very believable kid. As she shakes off her reserve, she does some spot-on kid things. I loved her indignation at Daikichi’s mistaken identification of a beloved cartoon rabbit as a dog. The goofy bits make it all the more satisfying when Daikichi steps up as a guardian and Rin thaws a bit in response to his efforts.

Unita’s art is unglamorous in just the right way. It fits the slice-of-life style of the story. Daikichi is supposed to be kind of ugly, and he is, in fact, kind of ugly. Rin’s body language is telling. When other characters discuss her mood, you can see it on the page in her facial expressions and posture. Settings are sufficiently detailed to create those familiar landscapes – home, work, school, the train. The pages don’t exactly dazzle, but they serve the story’s style very well.

I hope Bunny Drop enjoys commercial success for a few reasons beyond the fact that it’s intriguing and well-crafted. It’s in the still-risky josei category for adult women, originally serialized in Shodensha’s Feel Young. (It’s rated for teens, though, so that shouldn’t be a sales barrier.) It also presents a desirable, alternative fantasy object in Daikichi. He’s not some controlling, infallible prince type. He acknowledges his shortcomings, he listens to people, and he’s open with his feelings, but he’s not so drearily sensitive that you start inching towards the bar.

Resetting sail

I don’t know quite why this has happened, or exactly when, but I’ve got an ugly One Piece monkey on my back. Viz sent me some recent volumes from its ramped-up release schedule, and I liked them well enough and, critically, wanted to know what happened next. That desire to know the outcome has gotten steadily worse as I’ve picked up subsequent volumes, and Viz’s omnibus editions of the early volumes have me reading One Piece on two tracks, current and vintage. As a manifestation of this awful addiction (and seriously, I can usually be found wandering around my house with some random volume in hand like a security blanket), I thought I’d revisit an old review of the first two volumes with updated, junkie thoughts in italics and some commentary on the third volume afterwards.

*

The “young man with a dream” story is as common to manga as dead girlfriends are to super-hero comics. [I’ve got to apologize for the manga-spandex comparisons that crop up so often in these early reviews. They really don’t serve either kind of comic, but they reflect my head space at the time.] These callow lads want to be sports heroes, great chefs, and master gamesmen. There’s a surprising amount of variety within the genre, and the level of drive the protagonists display can range from amiably low-key to full-out obsessive. But what happens when the dream in question is kind of stupid?

In the case of Shonen Jump’s One Piece, you get a daft and surprisingly heartwarming comedy that’s probably a lot smarter than it seems.

Monkey D. Luffy, the dreamer in this instance, wants to be King of the Pirates. There’s some question as to whether he actually knows what pirates do. Luffy grew up in a seaside village that provided refuge for a rather unusual pirate crew, led by good-hearted Captain Shanks. Since the pirates used Luffy’s home as a hideout instead of a target, the boy never saw the darker aspects of piracy. From his perspective, pirates are good-natured rogues, living lives of adventure on the high seas and drunken fellowship on dry land. [Luffy’s vague grasp of the criminality of the pirate’s life seems largely intact.]

Shanks and company discourage Luffy’s attempts to join their crew. (Did I mention Luffy can’t swim?) He’s impervious to discouragement, though. By the time the pirates save Luffy and his town from a group of mountain bandits, the boy is hopelessly hooked on piracy as a career choice.

Luffy isn’t much of a long-term thinker, though. By the time he sets off in a sad little tub, he has no crew and only a vague notion of what he’ll do next. And he still can’t swim. As a child, he ate a strange fruit that turned his entire body to rubber. While that has its uses, buoyancy isn’t one of them. [This fruit is part of a horticultural subset known as “devil fruits” that give their eaters amazing and bizarre powers but rob them of the ability to swim a stroke.]

So Luffy sails off to assemble a crew and pursue his goal, armed only with a beloved straw hat (a gift from Shanks), a rubber body (surprisingly effective for clobbering), and impenetrable optimism (maybe it’s made of rubber, too). In short order, he runs afoul of pirates a bit more representative of the lifestyle. They pillage and murder, often taking sadistic pleasure in the fear they inspire. It’s hard to see how Luffy will fit in with this ilk. [The short answer is that he won’t. Luffy doesn’t want to be a pirate as pirates are; he wants to be a pirate as he has come to conceive them – adventurers who see amazing places and do legendary things, basking in the camaraderie of the crew.]

Happily, he doesn’t modify his full-speed-ahead tactics a bit. Luffy clearly has his own vision of what piracy is, and he’s blissfully dismissive of any counter-examples. His oblivious determination is also reflected in his attempts at crew recruitment. First up is [Roronoa] Zoro, a noted bounty hunter of pirates who wants to become the world’s greatest swordsman. Second is Nami, a clever thief who preys on pirates and wants to score enough loot to buy a village. Both take an understandably dim view of Luffy’s profession, but the dork who would be King is undeterred.

In the course of the first two volumes, Luffy bounces through a range of misadventures. He finds Zoro in a town under the thumb of the sadistic Captain Morgan, befriending and inspiring Koby, a would-be navy officer, in the process. Next, he hooks up with crafty Nami in a town under siege by evil pirate Buggy the Clown. There’s peril aplenty, with Morgan, Buggy, and their colorful henchmen doing their best to bring Luffy’s quest to a lethally premature end.

But there’s plenty to laugh at, too. While creator Eiichiro Oda does some exceptional physical comedy and builds some nice set pieces, the most satisfying laughs come from reversal of expectations. Koby, Zoro, and Nami all do their level best to explain to Luffy what pirates are really like, generally right before Luffy does something courageous and generous. He’s a tough kid to dislike, and it’s hard not to root for him. Dreams of piracy aside, he doesn’t sink to other pirates’ level, and he doesn’t let their brutality disillusion him. [Seriously, Luffy might be congenitally immune to disillusionment.]

Oda’s visuals are a cartoony treat that remind me a lot of Todd Nauck of Young Justice. He does terrific character design, particularly on scurvy antagonists like Morgan and Buggy. Oda has also come up with some creative renderings of Luffy’s rubbery frame, but he saves them up for maximum impact and comedy. He strikes a very nice balance of actual brutality (Luffy’s kinder, gentler approach to piracy wouldn’t have any impact if there wasn’t a contrasting reality) and highly stylized antics.

Is One Piece a great manga? Not really, but I don’t think it aims to be. It seems more satisfied to be creative genre entertainment. What raises it above its legion of “young man with a dream” peers are the subtle ways it subverts its own genre. In the final analysis, it offers good pirate fun, solidly crafted and sneakily smart. [This is very clearly wrong, maybe not in terms of Oda’s aims, but certainly in terms of One Piece’s greatness. It has that essential, aforementioned quality that defines great adventure comics – making the reader want to know what happens next because the characters are so likeable and the plots are so engaging. And it can be extraordinarily moving, not so much early on when Oda is setting up his game board, but certainly later.]

*

The third volume is most noteworthy for the introduction of Usopp who is, in Whedon-esque terms, “the Zeppo” of One Piece. He’s not exceptional like his cast mates, and his primary skills seem to be in spinning tall tales and taking punishment. (He’s also pretty good with a slingshot. I have no idea if this is meant to reflect a “David in a world of Goliaths” metaphor, but I’ll throw that out there.) His primary function, though, is essential. He’s the (relatively) normal guy, out of his depth but along for the ride because he believes in his friends and cherishes their thrilling adventures, even though those adventures frequently scare him to death. Usopp is Luffy’s opposite in a lot of ways. Luffy is a bulldozer of certainty, while Usopp is characterized by much more realistic doubt, mostly that the Straw Hats will survive their latest mishap. But Usopp keeps trying to contribute and to keep up with the larger-than-life figures around him, and he’s clearly positioned for that thankless role, “the heart of the team.”

A frequent synonym for “the heart of the team” is “the punching bag,” and Oda seems to be dedicated to a certain consistency in portraying just how Usopp would fare against the Straw Hats’ adversaries. It’s become almost impossible for me to think of Usopp without subconsciously inserting “poor old” in front of his name, but he’s a key ingredient to the series. The central message of One Piece is that everyone should be able to pursue their dreams, even if those dreams are rather beyond the scope of one’s abilities. And that’s why we have friends, to help us achieve those dreams and accept our help in return.

Wanting far too much for far too long

This week’s glorious news has left me with a question: should I just change the name of this feature to “Pestering Matt Thorn”? The idea appeals to me, but I’m reluctant to limit myself when it comes to begging. That doesn’t mean that I can’t… shall we say… fixate for a while.

But even this leaves one with a question: fixate on what? Should I focus on the kind of manga that seems to track with Thorn’s scholarly interests in his work as a part of Kyoto Seika University’s Faculty of Manga? This wouldn’t exactly be a stretch, as I routinely beg for classic shôjo, edgy shôjo, josei, and the various mix-and-match possibilities of all of those.

And then one notes that, in spite of the partnership with Shogakukan, one of the first two announcements from Fantagraphics is still in serialization in Enterbrain’s Comic Beam. And, as we all know, Comic Beam is awesome. I remember talking about Comic Beam’s curatorial sensibility during that Inkstuds podcast with Deb Aoki, Chris Butcher and Ryan Sands, so it makes me feel validated that Thorn drew from that particular well.

When one factors in the Fantagraphics brand (comics they admire from wherever or whenever), and the breadth and depth of Shogakukan’s catalog, and even Thorn’s own list of the best manga of the early 2000s, the possibilities seem satisfyingly vast. And while Gary Groth may not be the cuddliest messenger in the world (on this or any other subject), one can rest assured that his sensibility is as curatorial as it gets, and The Comics Journal wouldn’t have done an issue about Japanese comics for girls if it hadn’t been for Dirk Deppey, who was matchmaker for this whole initiative.

But really, where, oh where, to start with the begging? Thorn has noted that Moto Hagio’s The Heart of Thomas “changed [his] life,” and it’s a defining work of boys’-love manga, so it’s not unreasonable to keep one’s fingers crossed on that front. Along the same lines, Thorn included Hagio’s Otherworld Barbara among the previously mentioned best comics of the century so far, so that title doesn’t seem to represent excessive optimism either. (And, frankly, Fantagraphics triggered my want reflex for Otherworld Barbara in the first place by using art from it on the cover of The Comics Journal #269. They basically showed the gun in the first act, so somebody better be bleeding on the stage by the time the curtain comes down, is all I’m saying.)

Even just confining oneself to Hagio manga published by Shogakukan leaves one with a veritable smorgasbord. What more perfect way could there be for Fantagraphics to enter the vampire game than to publish The Poe Clan? Hagio’s award-winning A Cruel God Reigns (17 volumes of brutal family dysfunction) sounds like just the kind of challenge Fantagraphics would embrace.

And there’s the whole wide world of non-Hagio Shogakukan titles. I’ve seen Yumi Tamura’s 7 Seeds mentioned in the course of Fanta-Thorn elation, and why shouldn’t it be? Post-apocalyptic shôjo-josei about cryogenically frozen teen-agers destined to repopulate the Earth? Why yes, thank you, I’d love some!

So basically what I’m saying is that every possible request calls to mind seven or eight more. In fact, I’m on the verge of collapse under the weight of possibilities, so I throw it open to you. What titles are in your dream vision of Thorn-curated manga from Fantagraphics?

Emma MMF: Untidy endings

I don’t know if this is exactly in the spirit of the Manga Moveable Feast, which I suspect is more to introduce people to great manga than to discuss it among the converted, but I feel like exploring the tenth and final volume of Kaoru Mori’s Emma (CMX) in depth, so this will require a bit of a spoiler warning. So click for more if you’re in a place where discussing how things end won’t have deleterious influence! If not, just enjoy this little bit of adorable nonsense from Mori.

Quote of the day

Deb (About.Com) Aoki interviews Gary (Fantagraphics) Groth about their new manga initiative:

Q: In my conversations with U.S. manga publishers, most, if not all of the mainstream U.S. manga publishers have said that they are not willing to take a chance on classic manga titles (e.g. published in Japan in the 1960′s, ’70s, ’80s or even early ’90s lately!) anymore. What does Fantagraphics hope to do differently to introduce new readers to the titles you’ll be bringing to the U.S.?

Gary Groth: “Due to my almost complete ignorance of the manga publishing industry and the editorial strictures that guide it, and my pitiful lack of guile in these matters, I was insufficiently aware of how timid and craven our editorial choices should’ve been!”

Ah, that’s just the kind of Grothian commentary I’ve been expecting.

By the way, I’m obviously still linkstalking the story, so point me to your thoughts if I’ve missed them.

Say it with comics

So you’re among the legion of people who are grateful to Fantagraphics for their recently announced manga initiative, to be curated by Matt Thorn. Who isn’t? I know I am. And you may want to express that gratitude by buying something that Fantagraphics has published. If your comics interests rest primarily in titles from Japan, you may not have sampled other works published by Fantagraphics, so here are some books for your consideration:

La Perdida, written and illustrated by Jessica Abel: This series got a really attractive hardcover collection from another publisher, but the five individual issues are handsome objects in their own right. It’s a great story about a young woman who moves to Mexico and finds her romanticized notion of the country very much at odds with the corner of its reality that she inhabits. (My review.)

Escape from “Special”, written and illustrated by Miss Lasko-Gross: This is a frank coming-of-age story about a girl who’s making the adjustment from an experimental private school to the more perilous, less forgiving world of public school. It’s like really bleak shôjo without any bishies, and I liked it quite a bit. (My review.)

Castle Waiting, written and illustrated by Linda Medley: You’ve read this book, haven’t you? If not, good grief, what are you waiting for? It’s absolutely gorgeous and utterly delightful. It takes place in a castle that “becomes a refuge for misfits, outcasts, and others seeking sanctuary.” I think we’re just about due for another collection, so now would be a good time to introduce yourself to Medley’s first collection of Castle Waiting. Of course, it isn’t as though there’s ever a bad time. (My review.)

The Squirrel Mother Stories, written and illustrated by Megan Kelso: Do I need to make any other argument for this book beyond the fact that it has what amounts to Alexander Hamilton slash fiction in it? (My review.)

I did a “Birthday Book” entry on Gilbert Hernandez’s Palomar stories from Love and Rockets, so I’ll be lazy and point you at that instead of cobbling together a new paragraph.

The Shôjo-Sunjeong Alphabet: U

“U” is for…

What are some of your favorite shôjo and sunjeong titles that start with the letter “U”?

Upcoming 3/10/2010

Let me just clear a little paperwork out of the way before we delve into this week’s ComicList. I’m keeping a running list of reactions and coverage of yesterday’s grand and glorious news from Fantagraphics, so feel free to drop me a line if you’ve shared some thoughts that I might have missed. Also, the second iteration of the Manga Moveable Feast is in full swing, with Matt (Rocket Bomber) Blind keeping track of everyone’s thoughts on Kaoru Mori’s Emma (CMX), which was originally serialized in Enterbrain’s Comic Beam, the same magazine that hosted Shimura Takako’s Wandering Son. It all comes together.

Back to the ComicList and sticking with CMX, DC’s manga imprint has some fine comics shipping on Wednesday. I posted a review of the first volume of Mayu Fujikata’s My Darling! Miss Bancho last week, and Kate (The Manga Critic) Dacey rounds up some other early word of mouth in her look at this week’s arrivals.

But, as exuberant pitch persons remind us, that’s not all! There’s also the second (and final) volume of Asuka Izumi’s adorable The Lizard Prince. And in a timely arrival, CMX reminds us that they’ve been putting out classic shôjo for ages. This week’s reminder comes in the form of the 15th volume of Yasuko Aoike’s From Eroica with Love.

If for some inexplicable reason you missed Scott Chantler’s Northwest Passage in its original, three-volume form or in its hardcover annotated version, Oni Press gives you yet another opportunity to enjoy this terrific period action yarn in the form of a softcover edition of the annotated collection. Chantler does an amazing job combining history and adventure, so treat yourself.

As with Miss Bancho, I’ve already reviewed the first volume of Yuu Watase’s Arata: The Legend (Viz), and so has Danielle (Comics Should Be Good) Leigh. I’ll quote Danielle so as not to bore you by repeating myself:

“In the end, the categorization of ‘shonen’ really only tells us that this was published in a shonen magazine and I suppose that makes it useful in some ways. What is more important, though, is the name of the creator attached to the work and in this instance, that name is a tried and trusted ‘brand’ in the world of fantasy manga aimed at a teen audience. Yet in spite of the Watase brand, I want to stress that nothing feels formulaic or stale here — somehow this work feels fresh and energetic and I’m quite looking forward to seeing how the two Aratas’ journeys progress in upcoming volumes.”

In a very different corner of the Viz catalog, there’s the fourth volume of Kiminori Wakasugi’s Detroit Metal City, a distasteful and hilarious tale of an acoustic kind of guy thrust into the death metal limelight. It’s in the middle of its first multi-part epic, so you might want to pick up the third volume before you read this one. Of course, you probably already own all of the available volumes, right?

And this is less a recommendation than an inquiry: I remember thinking the first volume of naked ape’s switch was kind of pallid Wild Adapter fan fiction, but I recently got a random later volume in a batch of review copies, and at some point it seems to have become very readable Wild Adapter fan fiction. So my question is this: when did that happen, and is it worth rounding up the previous volumes? Or was the 12th volume just an aberrant quality spike?

Oh, and in case you were wondering what would top the next Graphic Book Best Seller List at The New York Times, Yen Press is releasing the first volume of the graphic-novel version of Stephenie Meyers’ Twilight, adapted by Young Kim. The only question is whether it will topple Crumb in the hardcover section or Akamatsu in the manga list. I’m sure I’ll read it eventually. I don’t see any reason to rush, though.